Disclaimer: I do not own either Beyblade or the first line of this chapter, which I believe is a quote from "Hannibal".
Author's Note: Has anyone guessed who 'the sleeper' is, yet? Oh, and if anyone's got any plot bunnies they'd like to see enacted, feel free to tell me. In the meantime, enjoy the fic!
"Waking, waking in a quiet room." The doctor, as much of an idiot as anyone else the sleeper has had to put up with, so far; speaks.
The sleeper snorts, derisively and, with a great deal of effort, pulls himself into a sitting position. He peers through disheveled slate-grey bangs at the t.v. which had been so rude as to wake him. It's mercifully off, now. The doctor, meanwhile, is amazed.
"What? H-how did you do that?" The doctor spluttered, dumbfounded. "You've been in a coma for two years! You're muscles should be atrophied!"
The sleeper, who truthfully cannot be called 'the sleeper' any longer, but doesn't feel like burdening himself with his real name, yet, rolls his eyes and gets out of bed.
This is harder. He wobbles slightly, unsteady. Then, regaining his balance, he looks down at himself.
Unflattering white hospital gown? Check.
Skin even paler than usual from years spent away from the sun? Check.
Noisome antiseptic smell clinging to his body? Urgh…check.
Then he catches sight of his arm and bemused, runs a calloused fingertip down a lattice-work of long-healed scars.
As if from miles away, he hears the doctor muttering, frantically. "It's impossible…inhuman…"
At this, the sleeper looks up and smirks, tired red eyes flashing. "Whoever said I was human?"